


Brahms' Waltz

by SherlockedTrekkie



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, apparently Spock sucks at research, told from Spock's pov, who'd have guessed that one?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockedTrekkie/pseuds/SherlockedTrekkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim teaches Spock to dance before their upcoming wedding. Spock is a better dancer than Jim expects, once he stops stepping on Jim's feet all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brahms' Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> Spock played that piano piece in Requiem for Methuselah - I couldn't not write something about that.

“Jim,” I sigh, arms crossed, “This is a pointless endeavor. I am capable of more than you think.”

Jim rolls his eyes, “You can’t dance, Spock, and you know it.”

I raise an eyebrow at my fiance, “The theory behind a basic waltz step is simple. I see no need to practice before our ‘first dance’, as you call it.”

Jim chuckles, “Theory only helps when it comes to time travel and beating klingons at their own game. Dancing is an art, Spock. Like making music. Practice makes perfect.”

He gently places a hand on my arm, tilting his head back slightly to look me square in the eyes, “And we always want to look perfect, don’t we?”

“Practice makes permanent,” I mutter, but concede to Jim’s logic and drop my arms, “I am yours to command, Captain.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jim grins slyly, voice dropping an octave. He takes my left hand and places it on his right shoulder, nudging my arm up with his own which he curls behind my left shoulder blade. His left hand intertwines with my right, our arms sticking out to the side, curved slightly at the elbow.

“I’ll lead until you get the hang of things, ok?” he asks. I nod in response.

“Now then, it’s a three-beat count,” Jim explains, “Steps alternate with left and right feet. I step forward, to the side, then bring my feet together. Then I step back, to the side, then bring my feet together again. Your steps are the opposite direction of mine. That is to say, your step pattern mirrors mine.”

“I know, Jim,” I say, “Can we dance now?”

Jim smirks, “We can. But I’ll wait to add the music until later. Let’s get the steps down first.”

I nod again, “Whenever you are ready.”

“1… 2… 3…” Jim counts slowly, then steps forward deliberately with his next count of 1. I follow his movements precisely until he steps less far back than he stepped forward.

Jim draws in a short breath, “Ow.”

“I sincerely apologize, Jim,” I say curtly, “Evidently I was not conscious of my own appendages.”

“No, you’re… you’re fine,” Jim says, “Maybe this time you should keep your eyes on your feet this time.”

“Perhaps you are right,” I admit, “Are you sure you are up to dancing?”

“I’m fine,” Jim assures me, “You just stepped on my toes. You didn’t break my leg. Just watch your feet this time.” He steps back up to me placing his hand on my back once again.

“1… 2… 3…” he counts off, then steps towards me. This time we manage a full four repetitions of the cycle before Jim removes his hands again.

“Do you want to try it without looking down this time?” he asks, “As much as I love looking at your hair, I’d rather see your face while we dance.”

“I am amiable to that,” I answer.

Jim smiles, “1… 2… 3…” After another four cycles, he stops.

“I’d say this is working pretty well,” he declares, “Are you ready for the music now?”

“I believe that is the best progression of events,” I agree.

Jim walks to the nearest wall panel and presses the button before speaking, “Computer, play Spock’s Wedding Waltz on a triple-loop”

Brahms floods the room as Jim counts off, this time in a whisper so as not to drown out the piano, “1… 2… 3…”

Jim’s steps are calculated, each step precisely the same distance apart, stepping only forwards and backwards in time with the music. As the second loop plays he begins to change this, turning us in a circle. I struggle to keep up at first as I find I cannot perfectly anticipate his steps, but as the song progresses we are toe-to-toe, whirling around the empty office.

The third iteration of the waltz prompts Jim to add flourishes. He adds twirls and other embellishments, spinning me away and back towards him in time with the music. As the last phrase of the piano is heard and the song dies away, Jim slips an arm behind me and bends me backwards, looking down through his eyelashes.

“You’re right, Mister Spock,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow at him, “‘Right’, Captain?”

“You’re a great dancer,” he informs me, dipping his head down to softly press his lips to mine.

He chuckles as he pulls away and lets me stand up, “I’ll teach you how to tango, tomorrow. Same time, same place work for you?”

I smooth out my shirt and clasp my hands behind my back, “Of course it does, Jim.”

Jim smiles and holds out two fingers to me. I press my own to them and a familiar sensation rushes through me. Jim’s breath hitches as he moves closer, bringing his free hand to my shoulder. He raises himself up on his toes and leans in, kissing me properly before stepping back, our hands still linked.

“This has certainly been an enjoyable evening,” he says in a low voice, “But I believe I have shift in a few minutes.”

“Understood, Captain,” I say, “We will continue this tomorrow.”

Jim nods, dropping his hand and moving away, “I can’t wait.”

He turns and walks away, stopping only once to turn and wink at me. I try to suppress a smile, but I can tell I failed in this pursuit as Jim giggles while the door slides shut behind him.

I stare at the door in thought before walking to the wall panel and pressing the button, “Computer, play Spock’s Wedding Waltz on infinite repeat.”

I nod my head to the beat as I visualize the steps Jim had just taught me. By the time the second repeat comes around I am spinning about the room by myself, arms up like Jim taught me. I stop in exhaustion after six repetitions of the song.

“Computer, end music,” I say into the wall panel, and the room falls silent.

I spend the rest of the night researching dances of human weddings. I find no mention of anything called a tango.


End file.
